Stories, Old Ragged Verse, Letters to and from mountain cousins by Storyteller and Appalachian Humorist Stephen Hollen. Enjoy the humor and bittersweet memories of Eastern Kentucky and a place where the mist crawls down the mountainside ''like molasses on a cold plate''

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Some time ago I sat and spoke with a group about Appalachia, the folks back home, the way it used to be and what we all missed. Needless to say, it was sometimes emotional for all of us who lived in the mountains.

One by one folks who were not storytellers stood up to tell their stories from their childhood, from the hills. We all celebrated the hard times shard by many. We laughed at "off plumb" uncles and aunts that kissed folks right on the mouth to say hello!

We seemed to share a common bond of Grannies and Aunts who loved us, cared for us, slipped us a biscuit or tater in between meals as our bodies grew way too fast. Uncles that gave us our first pocket knife, taught us to hunt and fish.

Those coveyed up there fell in love all over again when one then another arose and spoke with tears in their eyes of lost loves from childhood, of those who wait for them on the other side of the Jordan, of rugged cabins stuck with determination on the side of a mountain.

Then came the story that stopped us all for ever so long in quiet reflections.

A dear woman rose carefully and told us she promised not to cry. She spoke of her life in Eastern Kentucky, of her Mama and Daddy and little sister, of her Granny who watched them during the day while her Mama went off to clean house and cook for the superintendent's wife at the coal company while her Daddy went deep into that mine to dig coal. She spoke with love about that Daddy who would walk out at night and get in the truck, careful not to rub the ever present coal dust onto his sweet darlin' as she sat beside him.

They would arrive home about the same time each night, hindered occasionally by snow or high waters after a hard rain that would swell the creek bed that was also the road for a good part of their journey.

Once home, her Daddy would take off his work clothes while her Mama boiled enough water for him to go on the back porch and wash the coal dust off. Hot water, rough washrags and Lava soap would leave his skin rough and red, but clean. It took that to get the dust out of his pores each night.

When her Granny would see the lights come on across the mountain, she would bundle both girls up, give them lard buckets filled with dinner, maybe fried chicken and biscuits in one, bowls of slowly cooked green beans with ham hocks, turnip greans, butterbeans, maybe a big bowl of fried taters in that other lard bucket, all carefully wrapped with wax paper so there would be no precious food spilled.

She and her sister would follow the path to home. The start of the trip was always easy, but after about 100 yards they would go down into the holler. Though the path was clear and wide, it always made them fearful. Those girls would cling tightly to each other as they walked, carefully holding the handles of their lard buckets. Every sound would make them jump. Yes, they were country girls, but as she said, "we were all girl". We all laughed at that.

She then broke her promise as she spoke of walking up the last rise in the holler. That was their favorite moment. That was when they knew they were almost home.

She said, "When we got to the top of that there rise we could begin to see the lights of home in the dark. We knew Mama and Daddy were there. We knew that if we called out they would come. We saw the lights in the dark and knew out short journey home was complete, that the dark and the holler were nothing to be afraid of. When we climbed that rise and saw those lights we felt safe, happy and loved."

We all helped her break her promise not to cry as she concluded, "Oh, if I could just walk that path again. That little holler wouldn't scare me anymore. I have been there and it is just a short walk. Don't y'all think my folks were cruel, we probably didn't walk more than a minute in that holler. We were just little girls goin' home."

She paused, turned and got a hankie out of her purse, "This is silly, cryin' like this, but I would give all I have to walk that path one dark night, just one more time, say goodbye to Granny with a hug and walk down into that little holler. I would run through them woods and up that hill just anxious to see the lights in the dark. I would run to the porch, hollerin' as I ran, Mama, Daddy, I am home, I am home and its supper."

Wouldn't all of us love to run back home just one more time, to the mountain we love, down the hollers and up the rise, to the memories we cherish, cryin' out, "I am home and its supper"?

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Stephen Hollen

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SCHEDULING

Why not try something different for your Sales Meeting, Conference or Annual Meeting? Invite Stephen to as your Featured or Keynote Speaker! His many years of experiences as a successful and award winning Salesman and Sales Manager have given him insights and inspiration for your business or organization.

Event Planners and Organizers, here is a winning idea! Invite Stephen to share his Tall Tales, Scary Stories, Old Ragged Verse or maybe even Doc Hollen's Traveling Medicine Show at your event, festival, school or organization.

Contact him at: mountainstories@yahoo.comOr give him a call: 937-371-4071

About Me

Stephen Hollen is an award winning storyteller, writer, poet and Appalachian
Humorist. He grew up in the hills of Appalachia where his family has
lived since the 1760s. He is considered by many to be one of the foremost
poetic and storytelling voices of Appalachia.

One of the achievements Stephen is proudest of is the Heritage Award
presented to him in 2005 at the Appalachian Festival in Cincinnati, Ohio.
He was chosen "Man of the Year" in 2007 and was elected to "Who's Who
in America" in 2000, 2001 and 2003. His poetry - known by him as
"ragged verse" has been selected to appear on a number of websites
and his poem remembering 9/11 traveled around the world and appeared in German
and Russian websites!

Stephen's storytelling blog - www.mountainstories.net
enjoys huge popularity and has a large following of readers. Thousands of
readers stop monthly to read the humorous stories, bittersweet memories and
wonderful word pictures written by this talented author and poet.

Perhaps you were introduced to Stephen Hollen at a festival, school or
community event as he told stories, performed his tongue in cheek Old Time
Medicine Show as Doc Hollen, made Appalachian brooms and walking sticks, played the harmonica
or dulcimer or just told a tale so tall it HAD to be true.

Wherever you crossed his path, there is no doubt that he loves Appalachia -
and Eastern Kentucky in particular. When he talks about his "hometown
of Beloved, Kentucky", characters like his Cousin Peanut, Uncle Billy
Gilbert or Birdie Sue Poovey, you will grin with recognition because you have
kin just like them. As he reads his ragged verse, his warm bass voice
slowly weaves a picture of lightening bugs dancin' at dusk, of mist creepin'
down a mountain like molasses on a cold plate... and you find yourself
entranced, smiling at the memories he weaves around his audience.

Stephen Hollen is an unsung ambassador for Eastern Kentucky. You can see
it in the twinkle of his eye, hear it in the richness of his voice as he asks
you to come along and go with him back home... to the hills.